


High on Life

by ImBadWithWords



Category: Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: AKA Daddevil, Drugged Peter, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Protective Matt, this was supposed to be a short crack fic but then it developed feelings and a plot and im sorry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-03
Updated: 2017-04-03
Packaged: 2018-10-14 10:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10534692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImBadWithWords/pseuds/ImBadWithWords
Summary: Matt took a moment to lie back on his bed, groaning.How the hell was he supposed to get a teenaged superhero sober and home in time to avoid suspicion from his aunt? How thehellhad this become a situation he was supposed to deal with?





	

**Author's Note:**

> Theoretically could take place sometime after _[Overload](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9428522)_ , but you don't need to read that fic to understand this one.

Matt’s phone buzzed against his thigh. He switched his attention from the drug deal happening in a motel across the street to the device clamoring for his attention. Concerned, he flipped open the burner phone and held it to his ear.

“Hello?”

 _“Hey, man!”_ a voice slurred across the line. Had the gesture not been wasted, Matt would have rolled his eyes. _“Remem--re--”_ The person cleared their throat and tried again. _“Remember how you said, that one time, after that one team-up, that I should--”_ The speaker again cleared their throat and spoke in a poor imitation of Matt’s voice: _“’Call me if you need anything.’ Except you were the ‘me’ in that scenario, because you were the one saying it. To me. Not_ you _-me,_ me _-me--”_

“Spider-Man,” Matt cut him off. He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Stop talking.”

 _“Yessir,”_ Peter said, again trying to make his voice sound deeper. It was in stark contrast to the giggle that came through the phone a moment later. Matt held in a sigh.

“Okay, Spider-Man, what happened? Why do you need me?” he asked.

No response.

He waited a few seconds longer and then spoke again, unable to keep the worry out of his voice. “Spider-Man? Peter?”

Another silent moment. Then: _“I thought you wanted me to stop talking,”_ Peter whispered.

“Jesus,” Matt sighed, holding the phone away from his face. He groaned and held it back up. “Have you been drinking? Are you drunk?”

 _“No! Of course not! What are you talking about?!”_ Matt’s built-in lie detector didn’t work over the phone, but drunk people weren’t known for their dishonesty. Besides, Peter didn’t seem like the type.

“Well something’s obviously going on,” Matt said. “Tell me what it is.”

 _“Y’see, it’s--it’s kind of a funny story,”_ Peter said. _“But you gotta promise me you won’t get mad first.”_

Matt squeezed his eyes shut. This kid was going to be the death of him. “Why would I get mad?”

 _“Uh-uh, I’m not falling for your tricks, you-- you-- you_ tricky person. _You gotta promise first. Pinky promise.”_

“Spider-Man, we can’t...we can’t pinky promise when we’re--”

_“Just promise me!”_

Matt groaned. “Fine!” he exploded. “Fine, fine, I pinky promise, now tell me if you’re okay!”

Peter huffed. _“You didn’t have to yell,”_ he said, sounding upset. Matt felt a pang of irrational guilt, but he was saved from making an apology when Peter spoke again. _“But I guess I was kinda being not-smart when I broke into Roxxon--”_

“You did what?” Matt demanded.

_“You promised not to get mad!”_

Matt dragged a hand down his face and took a deep breath. “I promised. Sure, okay, whatever. I’m not mad. Happy? Now I need you to answer me: what happened?”

 _“Like I was_ saying, _before I was so rudely interrupted--”_ Peter paused to let his disappointment settle in. Matt rolled his eyes. _“--I broke into Roxxon. And they had tra-- tranqui-- tran--_ tranq _guns, with tranq darts, and I got hit with a tranq dart when I was jumping out a window, and now everything’s fuzzy and I can’t figure out which way I’m supposed to go to get home.”_ Peter snickered like the situation was hilarious.

Matt took a moment to sit on the wall of the roof. Why did talking with Peter never fail to make him feel like an old man? “Where are you?”

_“Um. I’m not...I’m not 100% sure. 42nd and something. 9th Avenue, maybe?”_

“I’m close by,” Matt said, rising. “Say there. I’m coming to get you.” He hung up, stuffing the phone back into his pocket. He moved across rooftops, keeping an ear out for Spidey’s familiar heartbeat.

He picked it up after going only a block downtown. It was regular, even; Peter didn’t seem distressed, but he didn’t seem to be moving either, a concerning realization in and of itself. The kid was a restless ball of energy and Matt knew he’d usually be bouncing around even if he was injured. He moved faster.

Matt managed to find him without much work. Peter was sitting on the ground in an alleyway on 9th Avenue, his feet splayed out in front of him, arms wrapped around his stomach. Matt dropped down to street-level and hurried over to him.

“Spider-Man?” He put a hand on Peter’s shoulder and shook him gently. The lenses of Peter’s mask whirred as his eyes fluttered open. The fabric over his head shifted as his face split into a grin.

“Maaaaaatt…!” he cheered softly, reaching his arms out like a child looking to be picked up. “You’re here! Like a magician! Like _magic.”_

“Uh…” Matt leaned back on his haunches as Peter clumsily tried to pull him into a hug. When Peter got closer, Matt was hit with the sudden smell of ketamine. A lot of it.

“You’re high right now, aren’t you?” Matt sighed. Peter gasped, scandalized.

“I have never done a drug in my _life,_ " he insisted. “Maybe _you’re_ the high one. Check and _mate,_ Matty.”

“Don’t use my name while we’re in costume,” Matt told him. He shook his head. “Alright, get up. It’s time to go.”

“Y’see, I would…” Peter started, “but my legs have turned into snakes.” He pointed to his normal, non-snake legs, as if Matt was supposed to look at them and agree. Christ, how much had they pumped into this kid?

“Your legs are fine.” Matt grabbed one of Peter’s arms and pulled him upright, wrapping one of his own arms around Peter’s waist to keep him standing. Peter leaned into him and giggled, the sound quiet and happy. Matt couldn’t remember the last time he had seen him so content.

Peter’s head lolled onto Matt’s shoulder as the two walked out of the alley. Peter’s stuttering, stumbling pace was in stark contrast to Matt’s determined strides.

It wouldn’t be a good idea to bring Peter home in his current state. Even assuming they could somehow get changed into street clothes and make it all the way to Queens without someone questioning why a blind man was half-carrying a drugged child onto the subway, there was no way Peter would be able to get into his apartment without making a scene. No, the smarter plan was to bring him back to Matt’s apartment until the ketamine worked its way through his system. They could figure out what to do next when Peter was sober.

Peter began to lean more into Matt’s side, pushing him to the edge of the sidewalk. Matt hurried to better hold his weight.

“Hey, stay awake,” he ordered, pinching Peter’s side. Peter whined and pressed his face into Matt’s shoulder. “I’m not carrying you halfway across Hell’s Kitchen.”

“Pssshhhh, like you would have any trouble wi’ that,” Peter murmured. “You have, like. So many arm muscles, Matt. Why don’t I have arm muscles like that, Matt? I can lift a truck and I still have noodle arms, Matt. But not even yummy noodle arms, Matt.”

“Stop using my name.”

“Whoops. Sorry, Matt.” A pause. “Whoops.”

They continued walking in the almost-darkness of nighttime in Manhattan. Peter kept up his muttered one-sided conversation, occasionally pausing to let Matt make the desired “Uh-huh.” or “Nope.”

The few people they passed on the street paid them little attention. The lack of light in addition to the unspoken courtesy rules of the city--ignore your fellow New Yorkers and let them ignore you--meant no one looked at them hard enough to notice their vigilante uniforms. Either that or no one cared.

“D’you think you’re gonna keep doing this until you’re like sixty,” Peter asked. Matt blinked and tilted his head.

“I…” he began. “I think I’m going to be doing it until there’s no longer a need.”

“But there’s always gonna be a need, Matty.”

“Well then as long as I’m able, I guess.” Matt shifted his grip around Peter’s middle when the boy stumbled over his own feet for the third time.

“I really like bein’ Spider-Man,” Peter said, burying his face into Matt’s shoulder, “but I don’t think I could do what you do. You’re tougher than me.”

Matt stayed quiet for a long time, piecing over Peter’s words. Peter picked the conversation back up on his own, now moved onto discussing something funny that had happened in school earlier that day. The story was lost in his slurred speech, but from Peter’s occasional wheezing laughs Matt could guess it was amusing.

Despite his apartment being only a few blocks from where he had found Peter, it took more than thirty minutes to drag the kid through the streets. They eventually made it into the alleyway beside Matt’s building and he unwound himself from Peter to pull down the fire escape ladder.

“Stay right here,” he ordered, pointing a finger in Peter’s direction. Peter offered a wobbly thumbs-up.

“Okay, Matt!”

“Don’t use my name.”

“Sorry, Ma-- dame. Madame. Is what I was intending to say.”

Rolling his eyes, Matt turned and grabbed hold of the lowest rung. He pulled it down gently so as to minimize the amount of sound and subsequent suspicion it would produce, but even then the shriek of grinding metal made his head spin. He hated this goddamned fire escape; jumping across from the next roof over was vastly preferable, but Peter was sure to land flat on his face on the pavement if Matt let him do any stunts.

The ladder hit its full reach with a final earsplitting bang that made Matt wince. He turned around again to beckon Peter over, but realized there was no one in the alley with him. After a second of panic he reached his hearing farther and picked up the sounds of booted, clumsy feet hitting asphalt.

“Spider-Man!” he yelled, striding out of the alleyway. “Get out of the road!”

Peter faced him sluggishly, almost tripping over himself with the graceless movement. He raised a hand and waved.

“I thought I saw a dog,” he said, swaying, “but I guess it wasn’t a dog. I _really_ want a dog, Ma--dame. Madame. But my apartment doesn’t allow them, and even though I’m sneaky--I’m _so sneaky_ , Madame, you have no idea--I don’t think I could hide one for very long.”

“That’s nice,” Matt grit, grabbing hold of Peter’s arm and dragging him back to the sidewalk.

“No it’s _not!_ Are you even _listening_ to me?”

Matt tugged Peter over to the ladder and motioned for him to go up first.

“So I can catch you,” he explained.

“Pssshhh,” Peter responded. “I don’t _fall_. I don’t even know what fall _means_.” He took a step toward the ladder and tripped, just barely grabbing onto a rung to stop himself from hitting the ground. “I’m good!”

Peter scurried up the ladder almost without incident, though he did manage to get his hand stuck on the final rung and couldn’t remember how to un-stick it for more than a minute. He flopped onto his back on the platform and Matt climbed up after him.

“Keep moving,” said Matt. “It’s too dangerous for us to spend much more time out in the open.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah…” Peter grumbled as he stood, keeping up his stream of affirmations until they reached the roof. Matt pushed open the door and helped him into the living room.

Once Peter was settled on the worn leather couch, Matt walked into the kitchen. He pulled bread and peanut butter from the cabinets--he didn’t know if ketamine worked like alcohol, but hopefully having something in Peter’s stomach would lessen the effects--and quickly made four sandwiches. He put three on one plate, and the last on another. He then got a glass of water from the sink and brought everything into the living room.

“Eat,” he ordered, placing the plates and glass on the coffee table. Peter was sprawled on his stomach, one arm dangling off the edge of the sofa. He had torn his mask off at some point and it was lying discarded on the floor next to his outstretched fingers.

“Make me,” he mumbled into the couch cushions. Sighing, Matt maneuvered him upright and shoved the glass into his hand.

“At least drink some water.” He stood, removing his helmet. “I’m gonna go change. I want that glass empty by the time get back.”

He padded into his room and shirked the heavy red costume in favor of a pair of sweatpants and a dark t-shirt. He took a moment to lie back on his bed, groaning.

How the hell was he supposed to get a teenaged superhero sober and home in time to avoid suspicion from his aunt? How the _hell_ had this become a situation he was supposed to deal with?

He stretched his arms over his head, appreciating for a moment the gentle burn in his tired back muscles. He couldn’t let Peter get involved any further with Roxxon. Even without its ties to the Hand, such a massive global corporation would have the funds and power to-- _deal with_ Peter if they believed he could expose one of their dirty little secrets. Peter didn’t realize it, not yet, but sometimes the people in suits were more dangerous than the ones behind weapons.

Matt pushed himself to his feet and walked back into the living room. Peter was sipping at the glass of water; he smelled faintly of peanut butter, though Matt couldn’t tell how much of the sandwiches he had eaten. He was hunched over, a little tense, but otherwise seemed fine.

“How much of that water have you had?”

“‘s all gone,” Peter said, mumbling around the glass. Even without the telltale change in heartbeat, Matt could tell he was lying by the way his voice bounced off the water. But he was drinking it at least, so he decided to let it slide.

“You should get some sleep,” Matt told him. “I’m going to call Claire.”

“I like Claire,” Peter murmured, already beginning to lie down. Matt hurried to take the water from his hand before he spilled it on himself. “Claire’s super cool. An’ she’s nice t’ me. An’ she could prob’ly kick my butt.”

“That’s right, buddy,” Matt said as he set the glass back on the table. “So you should just take it easy right there so I don’t have to tell her you’re getting yourself into trouble.”

“Nooooo…” Peter’s eyelids were drooping. Matt took the blanket that was lying across the back of the couch and threw it over Peter before retrieving his phone. Walking back into his room so as not to disturb Peter, he punched in Claire number and waited.

 _“Hello?”_ Claire’s voice drifted over the line. Hidden in her tired tone was frustration mingled with concern. Matt felt simultaneously guilty and touched.

“Hey, Claire, it’s me,” he said. “I should start off by saying I’m fine, there’s no big emergency.”

 _“Oh good, I was looking for a change in pace.”_ Matt smirked.

“I’m a reckless idiot, I get it,” he conceded. “I just figured I should get a medical opinion on something.”

_“Shoot.”_

“I have Peter in my apartment right now and he’s high as a kite on ketamine--”

 _“He’s_ WHAT?” Claire exploded. _“I’m gonna kill him, Matt. I really am. And what the hell do you mean this isn’t an emergency? That sweet boy turning to drugs to--”_

“He didn’t dose himself,” Matt rushed to assure her. “He told me he was hit with a tranquilizer dart while breaking into Roxxon.”

 _“...And I thought you were bad.”_ Claire sighed. _“I shouldn’t have assumed the worst, but I’ve seen enough junkie kids during my time at the hospital that that conclusion made the most sense.”_

“I can’t blame you. That was my first thought too.”

_“Peter’s not like that though, right? I mean, we don’t have to worry about him...doing something he shouldn’t?”_

“I don’t think so.” Matt listened for Peter in the other room; his breathing was deep and even with sleep. “I sure hope not.”

_“Yeah. So you called to ask what to do, right?”_

“Pretty much.”

Claire paused for a minute, considering. _“It’s hard to tell because he’s not exactly your normal teenager, so things will affect him differently. He mentioned having a faster metabolism.”_

“So he should sober up quicker?”

_“Probably, except the reason for that is his body goes through the drug all at once rather than more gradually. It’d be like a normal person taking an extremely high dose. And ketamine is a respiratory depressant, so I’ve seen patients take too much and just stop breathing.”_

Matt’s heart skipped a beat. He quickly listened for Peter again. “Should I be watching out for that?”

_“Has his breathing rate been off at all?”_

“Not that I’ve noticed. He’s sleeping now and he sounds fine.”

_“That’s a good sign. If he’s sleeping it means he’s at the tail end of the high and is feeling pretty drowsy. The danger of respiratory depression was more when he’d just been injected.”_

“Okay. Okay, good to know. Anything else?”

_“Just keep an eye on him. Or ear on him, whatever. With any luck he’ll sleep a little while longer and wake up sober. But call me if his breathing seems weird.”_

“Can do. Thank you, Claire.”

 _“Happy to help,”_ Claire sighed. _“Let me know when it seems like he’s in the clear, yeah? So I don’t have to worry?”_

Matt couldn’t help his smile. “Of course. Sorry to wake you.”

_“Don’t worry about it. I think I’m becoming nocturnal anyway. Night, Matt.”_

“Good night, Claire.” He hung up, dropping the phone onto his nightstand. He rubbed his fists into his eyes, walking back into the living room. He picked up his own sandwich from the coffee table and downed it in a few quick bites, then checked Peter’s plate to see how much of his food he had eaten. Only half a sandwich. It was better than nothing, he supposed.

Matt eased into one of the armchairs across from the couch. Resolved to wake Peter in a few hours to get him home, Matt closed his eyes and let his head fall back. The unnoticed tension that had creeped into his body over the course of the evening seeped out of his muscles. Soon he was asleep.

\--------

It didn’t last long.

The first thing Matt noticed upon waking was a hard, frantic beating that his groggy brain eventually realized was Peter’s heartbeat. Matt sat up ramrod straight.

Peter’s breathing had quickened, and he was curled into a ball on the sofa. The blanket Matt had laid over him was twisted around his body, pinning one of his arms down. Peter’s leg spasmed, lashing out, and Matt jumped to his feet.

“Peter,” Matt called gently, “Peter, take it easy, it’s okay.” Peter didn’t seem to hear him; a nightmare, then. Matt inched closer.

“You’re dreaming, Peter,” Matt continued. “You’re safe, you’re okay.” He stretched a hand out to lay on Peter’s shoulder, to comfort him any way he could, but the second Matt touched him Peter lashed out again, this time with his fist. Even uncoordinated and unconscious he managed to land it, connecting with Matt’s ribs. Matt was knocked back into the table. As he tried to catch his breath, Peter scrambled to one side of the couch.

They stayed frozen for a tense moment.

“M-- Matt?” Peter asked finally.

“Yep,” Matt wheezed in response.

“I-- oh my god.” Peter hurried to help Matt sit down on the couch. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t-- I-I thought--” Matt waved him off.

“It was my fault,” he said. “I should have known better than to try and touch you while you were having a nightmare.”

Peter said nothing, but guilt radiated off him in waves. The blow had just glanced Matt’s side, but with Peter’s enhanced strength behind it, Matt was sure to have a bruise in the morning. Nothing broken though, so no harm no foul, and Matt told Peter as much.

It took a moment for Matt to notice through the dull pain in his side, but Peter’s hands were shaking. He realized with a jolt that Peter had just been launched from his own panic and fear into trying to take care of Matt, without any time in between to decompress.

Peter pulled his knees up to his knees up to his chest and leaned against the far side of the sofa. His heart rate was coming back to normal, but his breathing was overly controlled, as if he was trying to project a false feeling of ease.

“Are you alright?” Matt asked. Peter laughed, the sound a little shaky.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I just threw you halfway across the room.”

“Well, it’s not a big room,” Matt responded with a smirk, drawing a genuine, if small, smile from Peter. “But seriously, how are you feeling?”

“Fine.” Matt glared and Peter relented. “A little dizzy, but not as...as floaty as before.”

“That’s good. You feel up to eating?”

Peter shrugged. “When do I not?”

Matt offered him the plate of sandwiches and Peter sat criss-cross on the couch so the plate could rest on his ankles. He took a bite from the half-sandwich left behind and stared absently at the billboard outside the apartment window.

They sat in silence for a few minutes. It made Matt feel ill at ease; there was never silence when he was with Peter. The kid would always fill the air with idle chatter, not really expecting Matt to contribute or answer, but just to keep himself occupied. There was something off whenever Peter was quiet.

So Matt took up the mantle instead. He told Peter about his clients, and the research Karen was doing for her latest article, and how Foggy had splurged on a fancy coffee maker after they’d finished a big case, though it was apparently a garish yellow that Foggy had insisted would match the office walls. He got the sense that Peter wasn’t paying any attention, but he didn’t mind. If Peter wanted to keep staring out the window, Matt wasn’t going to stop him.

At some point, Peter stopped taking full bites of the sandwich, instead nibbling at the edges. He pulled his feet closer to his body, and his shoulders grew more and more tense. Matt paused in the middle of a story about one of his neighbors.

“Peter, are you alright?”

Peter nodded quickly, then winced, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his lips together. One hand drifted to cradle his stomach. Oh no.

Matt took the plate and almost threw it onto the table, then took Peter by the shoulders and hauled him into the bathroom. The second they were over the threshold, Peter fell to his knees and vomited into the toilet. Matt grimaced as Peter heaved and, after a moment of hesitation, placed a hand on Peter’s back. He rubbed in slow circles until the spasms ceased and Peter’s taut muscles relaxed.

Matt grabbed a washcloth from beside the sink and dampened it with cold water. He laid it across the back of Peter’s neck. Peter’s eyes fluttered shut.

“Thanks,” he rasped.

“I’ll be right back.” Matt rose and left the bathroom to get a glass of water from the kitchen. He returned and gave it to Peter, who washed his mouth out and then nursed the drink with slow sips.

“Drugs suck,” Peter muttered after a few silent minutes. Matt chuckled in spite of himself.

“Glad you think so.”

Matt left the room again, this time returning with one of his sweaters. Peter took the offer with a mumbled “thank you” and shrugged into it. He moved the washcloth from his neck and pulled up the hood. He tugged the sleeves down over his hands, balling the fabric around his fists. Peter leaned his head back against the cool tile walls.

He wasn’t sick again after that, though there were close calls. Eventually Peter rose to his feet, clinging to the edge of the sink for support. Matt hovered behind him as they moved back to the living room, but Peter made it without incident. He lied down on the couch and drew the blanket around his shoulders.

“Thanks, Matt,” he said, his eyelids drooping. “‘m really lucky to have you.” Matt laid a gentle hand on his head.

“Feeling’s mutual, kiddo.”

\--------

Matt woke Peter at 4AM, a little more than two hours after Peter had fallen asleep again. Matt himself had never gone to bed. Instead he had called Claire again--apologizing multiple times for waking her up--to tell her what had happened. She’d assured him that nausea and vomiting were common side effects and he shouldn’t worry, but he’d still decided to stay awake in case Peter’s condition changed at all.

Although Peter was groggy upon being forced off the couch, Matt was able to chalk it up to normal tiredness when Peter downed a breakfast of toast and orange juice without issue. The commute to Queens took just over an hour. Matt had loaned Peter some clothes so he could cover up his vibrant spider-suit.

The sun had not yet risen when they made it to Peter’s street. Peter led Matt to an alleyway next to his building and gestured with his thumb at something several stories up.

“The window to my room is just up there,” he said. “I should be able to sneak in without May ever knowing I was gone.”

“I’m sure you’ll have no problem.” Matt bit down on a grin. “After all, you’re ‘so sneaky.’”

Peter gave him a bewildered look, then narrowed his eyes.

“I’m getting the distinct impression you’re making fun of me.”

“Me? Never.”

Peter rolled his eyes. He then grew serious.

“Seriously, Matt. Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t there last night.”

“If you need help, I’m there,” Matt promised. He smiled and Peter beamed. After what seemed like a split second of indecision, Peter tackled Matt in a hug. Matt’s eyes widened. He laid his hands on Peter’s back and returned the gesture. Peter pulled away, still grinning.

“Okay, I should really go.” He touched the wall and scrambled up a few feet. “I’ll see you around!”

“Definitely,” Matt said. He listened to Peter climb for a few seconds, then turned and started back for Hell’s Kitchen.


End file.
